


You fed me with words, not comfort

by horlockshelmes



Series: a collection of drabbles that i should probably proof-read [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, St Bartholomew's Hospital, Swearing, Touch-Starved, actually ends up being nice though so, only a little angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 07:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horlockshelmes/pseuds/horlockshelmes
Summary: Prompt: You still trust me? After what I did? After what I’ll continue to do?





	You fed me with words, not comfort

‘I can’t believe you drugged Greg!’ You huff, when Sherlock slides the cab door shut and falls in the seat next to you, landing a little too close to your right leg. You shuffle away from him.

'It was an experiment.’ Sherlock acknowledges, for what seemed like the first time that evening.

'And he got hospitalized! Because of  _you!_ ’ You whisper-shout and jab a finger at the detective, 'He wouldn’t even look at you, nevermind employing you after he recovers!’ You turn your body toward the window on your left, subconsciously away from Sherlock, who does the same, and in turn subconsciously mirrors your mannerisms.

'Nobody told me it wasn’t common etiquette.’ Sherlock mutters under his breath after a pro-longed silence, you snap your neck toward him.

'That’s because normal people know not to poison each other!’

Sherlock flinches at your word choice, and you immediately regret implying he wasn’t a  _'normal’_  person, but there had been a distinct element of truth to your statement. Sherlock had become so still it made you jump when he inhaled sharply and shifted in his seat, shaking the back of the cab and making you glance at the floor where his feet rested, a comfortable, shoulder width apart.

The rest of the ride was silent as you’d expected, and when you arrived at 221B you pushed your way out first, storming into the flat and up the stairs, assuring John Watson, who was on his way out, that you were fine.

When Sherlock had payed the cabby and gotten up the stairs, the growing tension in the flat seemed to only be felt by you, and all you wanted to do was scream and reprimand Sherlock for the idiot he’d acted, though you knew he wouldn’t really listen.

You yank the cabinet door above the stove open and let it slam against the cabinet beside it, pulling out the first mug your fingers find, belting it onto the counter, and closing the cabinet again with force. Sherlock doesn’t flinch, instead watching you intently, he begins when the silence starts to make him uncomfortable. 

**'do you still trust me?’**

_Slam._ Sherlock suddenly begins to stumble over his words like a child being asked for an apology.

**'you know… after… after what I did- and… um… after what I’ll continue to do-’**

Your body slanted away from his when he started to talk, as though a subconscious measure it had by default equipped to stop you from lashing out, you cringed at the softness in his voice. It was almost velvet, like he was trying to  _comfort_  you. And you seethed at the idea.

You clenched the counter-top so hard your knuckles went white.

'Is your voice shaking or are you doing it to annoy me?’ You barked, eyes snapping to his.

Sherlock opened his mouth wider for a moment, before closing it again and slumping his shoulders as his eyes widened. You scoffed at the expression. He looked like a goldfish behind a bowl, trying so hard to speak that the water kept eating up his words and turning them into bubbles that floated to the surface and taunted him with silence.

The moment quickly fizzled out, as Sherlock rose from his chair so slowly the leather squeaked in protest and you cringed again at his pathetic attempts. He began to tread carefully toward the kitchen.

'You’re angry,’ he said, stating the obvious and running his eyes over you before he began to take note. Now that Sherlock was stood up, the size difference between you two was more obvious. He undoubtedly towered over you, but right now, in this room and in this moment he’d never looked smaller.

'Is that why you’re handling everything so roughly?’ he asks rhetorically, and interjects again before you can answer. 'You’re glazed with sweat, flared nostrils, and you’re holding yourself uncomfortably,’ he steps forward again, this time bolder and you swore you saw a glint of pity in his blue eyes. 'elbows wide from the body, chest thrust out.’ He steps again.

You clench your fists suddenly and you see Sherlock swallow hard and freeze up.

'Deduce me one more time and I’ll break your  _fucking_  nose.’ You spat, enthusing when you cursed, and pondering over what courage allowed Sherlock to get so close to you.

'No you won’t.’ He snaps back, tremulous, his expression taught, as though he was just trying to test how the phrase felt rolling off his lips. Sherlock’s mouth curled into some crumpled copy of a smirk when he saw you’d started to shake with fury. 'No you won’t.’ He repeats, this time a little louder.

He narrows his eyes and steps forward again.

'Stop walking towards me.’ You extolled, voice breaking slightly when you finished your sentence. It wasn’t obvious, but it was definitely there, and, of course, Sherlock took advantage of it.

He stopped for a moment and for a fraction of a second you thought perhaps your threats had worked, but he lunged forward so suddenly you stumbled backward, only just being caught when Sherlock latched onto you in a clumsy embrace. You sucked in a violent breath.

He held you so tightly it felt wrong that he was so rigid, and you stood frozen with your hands at your sides and a blank expression that had folded from your past anger. Sherlock stayed like that for a little while too long, before his grip tightened on your back and he grappled at your coat to pull you closer than humanly possible.

'Please do something.’ He mumbles so lowly that it gets lost in your hair, and you suddenly feel his fingers dancing hesitantly on your back, as if he was trying to find a diversion from the awkwardness of the embrace.

'I… oh god you’re such an idiot, I hate you so much.’  

Sherlock doesn’t move for a brief amount of time, before you feel his grip loosen on you and your arms immediately snap up to pull his large form closer again. Hot tears begin to sting at your tired eyes, trying to blink them back.

'Don’t let go,’ you sputtered, and it sounded far more pathetic than you’d intended. ’ _Please._ ’

You were practically begging, but to your surprise Sherlock didn’t pull away, and neither did he mock or laugh the ringing laugh you were sure would make you break your facade. Not that much was left to break, anyway. You inhaled into his coat.

He didn’t move, apart from the occasional rising of his shoulders when he breathed. And for some reason that was much more comforting than him rubbing sloppy circles on your back and pretending to comfort you when all he ever really did was feed you words, not comfort.

You were the one to pull away first, surprisingly, and when you did Sherlock clung onto your arms when you slid away from him.

Your cheeks were stained with wet paths of tears that flowed down them in your livid state, you wiped them away, turned around and went back to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock lonely and touch starved in the middle of the living room.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr! If you enjoyed this please go follow me on there, I post similar stuff :)


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